water toward the island. Reaching its shore I walked and crawled until almost
out of water. Then, with my face exposed, I lay still.
The Jack was turning about to give chase.
I could see confusion on her decks, one gun dismounted, a portion of the rail
shot away. What damage had been done the Tiger, I had no idea.
When she was well past I crawled on my belly up the sand, trying to imitate the
wriggling of an alligator. When I came near some brush I crawled in. There, I
sat up and looked slowly around.
I sat amid some low-growing brush on a sandpit on the island of the hulk. I had
only the clothes in which I stood, my sword and dagger, nothing more.
Obviously the Jolly Jack had been lying in wait in some inlet, her mast lost
among treetops, and we too intent upon my sandy island and the furs to spot her.
Now the Jack was in hot pursuit and that she was the faster of the two vessels I
knew full well. Also, she was heavier-gunned, heavier-manned, and altogether a
more complete fighting ship.
The Tiger had a lead and it had the wind. There was nothing for it but to run,
and the Jack would follow.
And I?
I would remain here, on this island … alone.
Chapter 14
When the Jolly Jack was well away I got slowly to my feet. I was dripping wet
and clammy. The air seemed to have grown colder with a wind from off the sea.
From my charts, the growth about me, and the season, this should be southern
land, yet nobody had told the wind.
I went to the old hulk, almost buried in sand, and went in under her side. Well
I knew how to build a fire with bow and string, yet work as I might this time no
flame would come. At last, too cold and weary to try more, I dug a place for
myself in the sand, filled it with grass and crawled down inside it to sleep.
And sleep I did … sword in hand.
Dawn broke cold with another spitting rain. My shirt and breeches had dried but
little. Back under the hulk I found a bird’s nest of twigs, dried grass and
hair. This I brought out and once more set to work with bow and string.
Soon a tiny tendril of smoke arose, and I glimpsed a spark. I blew gently … it
went out. I worked again, worked until my palms were sore, and then again the
smoke. I worked harder and harder, and soon a spark … another! I blew gently,
ever so gently. The spark brightened, dimmed, brightened again as I breathed
upon it, and a tendril of dry grass began to smoke. Soon I had a fire, a very
small fire.
When it was burning, I crept outside and looked carefully around.
Where was the Tiger? Had she escaped? Or been taken by the Jolly Jack? Had I
been seen after I fell into the river? Did they guess that I lived?
There was fuel enough and more, but, sitting by the fire, I was suddenly
overcome by depression.
I was alone. Even if the Tiger survived, it might be too severely injured to
return for me, even if Captain Tempany believed in my survival.
They were gone, and I was alone. What happened now was up to me.
The old hull in which I sheltered myself had somehow been destroyed, its crew
drowned or killed by Indians, the hull finally beached here on this island. It
had been as large a vessel as the Tiger. There was little upon which to make an
estimate, but the line of the bow was unusual. It did not appear to have broken
in half, only that the larger portion was buried in sand, many years ago.
I went outside into the rain and dragged some brush nearer, then picked up
various odds and ends of logs, broken timbers and the like to keep my fire
alive.
The hull was thick, and exposure to the elements had not weakened it, I could
wish for no better shelter. At the back end I could go into what must have been
a sort of forecastle, but that I had not yet explored.
What we had first assumed was the captain’s quarters was nothing of the kind,
and I was determined, when time permitted, to explore further. Perhaps even to
dig a little.
When time permitted! And what kind of time would I have now? Merely enough to
keep soul and body together, to eke out a precarious living. That would take all
the time and skill I had.
First, I must have food. I must make another bow and some arrows, and I must get
skins for a warmer jacket, for now I stood in nothing but breeches and shirt,
neither of which would last. In the meantime I had to eat.
Several times along the river I had seen great turtles; I saw none now. Several
times I had seen deer, but I saw none. Fishing in such weather as this was out
of the question.
The channel between my island and the far shore was not wide, but the current
ran swiftly. I was a good swimmer, but not that good, and had no wish to trust
myself to that powerful current with a sword to impede my movements. So I added
sticks to the fire and huddled close, trying to envelop it and absorb all the
heat I could.
But to sit idle was impossible, so I searched among the rubble of drift around
the old hulk until I found a long, straight shaft of about seven feet in length,
and sharpening the end with my dagger, I hardened the point in the fire. It
balanced well, would make a staff for walking, and a crude spear. Yet it was in
no sense an adequate weapon.
Reeds and willows there were in profusion, so I’d have no trouble about arrow
shafts. Points were another thing, and points needed time. I’d also need a bow.
In the meanwhile there was a thing I could do, and with those willows closest to
hand. I could make a fish-trap.
Slipping out into the rain, I hurriedly cut a couple of dozen long whips of
willow. Forming a hoop of one of these I began to bind the ends of the others to
the hoop at intervals, using willow bark or the fibres of some of the coarse
grass growing nearby to make them fast. Stretching them out, I then bound the
other ends together in a tight group making a sort of elongated funnel.
With some much shorter sticks tied to a half circle of willow, I formed a sort
of trap to put at the opening. The current and movements of the fish itself
would allow them to enter; getting out would, hopefully, be much more difficult.
It was crude, hurriedly done, and not a job I would have boasted of to any
fen-man, but I was hungry and anxious. When the trap was completed I waded
waist-deep into the water and moored it with stakes. Returning I found patches
of scurvy grass, known as useful in preventing scurvy. Tearing up a handful I
returned wet and cold to my shelter, huddled over the fire and ate the grass.
It was mightily unsatisfactory.
I was lonesome and tired. Shivering, I huddled over the fire, getting up at
intervals to drag fuel closer to hand, for the fire was insatiable. Small though
I kept it, its angry flames ate hungrily of the wood, and I dared not use the
greener, slower burning wood which would produce too much smoke.
Finally, I napped.
Suddenly I was awake. It was dusk. My fire was smoldering coals. For a moment I
lay still, staring at two of those coals. Somehow they were out beyond the edge
of my fire. What would coals be doing out there? How would—?
I came off the sand with a lunge, narrowly missing banging my skull against the
over-hanging ship’s side. With a sweep of a hand I knocked some stacked wood
into the flames, the smaller stuff gathered for kindling in case my fire went
out.
The fire sputtered, then the flames reached up, and my hand went out, grasping
for my spear.
Facing me, just beyond the fire, was an alligator. Perhaps a crocodile, for I
did not know one from the other. Its small red eyes gleamed from the fire’s
reflection, and I crouched. I yelled at it, but it paid no attention, its eyes
fixed on mine with a baleful gleam.
Escape was out of the question. To go to right or left would still leave me
within sweep of the mighty tail, and I had been warned many times that the
alligator strives to knock its prey into the water or break its legs with its